I knew as soon as the prissy-assed
bitch came to my desk what was going down. She’d hated me from the
start; that I could tell for sure. Her fake smile always plastered
to her face; for some reason though she intimidated me, made me weak
in the knees. I’d always talk too much, tell her way too much
information, and she’d just stand there and not at me with that
stupid smile. I’m sure she was saying to herself “I wish this
fucking moron would just shut up, I’ve got shit to do... like my
nails”; but I’d just continue talking until she’d start backing
away saying “Oh Really? That’s nice..Oh Really? Great”.
She never came to my desk just to say
hi, or ask me how my day was going or how my weekend went. In fact
she treated me as if I was pretty much non-existent, unless of course
she wanted me to do something. I could never say no to her, and not
just because she was my boss but because she had these amazing tits
that I swear bounced when she talked.
I hated her though; first of all she
had “My job”. The one I’d worked so hard to get. Countless
hours of free overtime and finishing up projects while I was on
vacation. I used to be Garry Jones’ right hand man, or so I
thought. Applying for the position was just a technicality he told
me, the job was pretty much mine; but to satisfy the democratic
bullshit of our HR department it had to be done.
My interview with Garry wasn’t much
of an interview at all. We shot the shit over a beer. I didn’t
mind Garry, although he was a little tight assed. It was only after
a few beers that I could say the word “Fuck” around him without
him turning all red, and being that I used this word frequently his
reaction was always a reminder to me that I’d best find a new word;
especially if I was going to join the ranks of upper management.
Garry and I stayed for three pints,
checking out the waitresses in their ‘too short’ skirts. I
always wondered if they wore panties under them, and how often they’d
take guys to the ‘back room’. Garry was married, three kids; but
his wife was a miserable bitch. I don’t suppose he got a lot of
action out of her, if you know what I mean. I was married too once,
long ago; it didn’t last long. As soon as she got out into the
real world she realized what a “Fucken Loser” I was; her words,
not mine.
A week after the interview Garry’s
boss, Mike Archibald called me into his office; he would ultimately
be my boss once I got Garry’s. Maybe I was a little smug that day,
perhaps over-confident, and I could have even ‘strutted’ into
Mike’s office when he called me. This would finally be the end of
working pay cheque to pay cheque, it would give me the fresh start I
needed, I’d join the gym and use my title to sleep with all the
young hotties in accounting. It was a long time coming and finally
the day was here.
I took a seat across from Mike’s wide
expanse of a desk, settling myself into the cushy upholstered chair.
I’d shined my shoes the night before, found a shirt with no yellow
stains in the pits, and even took the time to iron it. My jacket
didn’t quite fit, but I’d put it on anyways; as long as I didn’t
move my arms a certain way it would suffice. Mike took his seat
across from me, immaculately dressed in what looked like an Armani
suit. I vowed at that moment that this is what I’d aspire too,
that eventually it would be me in the Armani.
“Thank You for meeting with me” he
said. I nodded and smiled and spewed off a whole bunch of shit and
big words about how he was most welcome, how I was honoured that he’d
given me the time..blah blah. I don’t think I actually heard him
the first time he told me that I wasn’t the ‘successful
candidate’; that they’d hired some chick named Olivia Newton, who
was external and came with a great business acumen and a respected
reputation. I think he actually had to tell me this twice, although
I can’t be sure. He’d asked me if I had any questions and I
responded with a politically correct “Business is Business.. the
best man or woman haha for the job..I’m sure you made a good
decision”; but he’d already stopped listening and I found myself
back at my desk before I even knew what happened.
I looked around my cubicle with
disdain; what a dirty fucking whole it was. Shit tacked up
everywhere, pen and red ink all over the cream coloured desk. My
keyboard and calculator coated with food from many a lunch, and I
just sat down. I wanted to walk out just then, but I stayed. Fuck
them I thought, no more overtime, no more bullshit..in fact they
could eat my shit.
Olivia Newton started the next week. I
saw her sitting with Mike when I came in that morning. I could hear
her laughs, each one grating on my next nerve. She’d be moving
into Garry’s office across from mine. I hoped she didn’t laugh
like that all the god damn time. I could hear Mike walking around
the department introducing her, and promptly took my coffee break.
Screw that; like I was going to sit there like a fat fucking loser
and smile and her, welcome her on board.
It was around lunch that she popped her
blonde head into my cubicle. Extending her small, manicured hand
towards mine for a hand shake. “Sorry I missed you earlier” she
chirped. I must say, that besides being incredibly stupid, Olivia
Newton could have been the next centrefold for Playhouse. Most guys
would have loved to report to her. She had long blonde hair, big
blue eyes, a tiny waist, tits that just couldn’t be real and an
ample sweet ass. It was hard to talk to her without picturing her
naked.
I knew that it was her looks and charm
that got her the job. Anything technical and I was her go-to guy; it
irritated me to no end.
I started interviewing at other places,
but not with much luck. I even ran into Garry Jones, good old Garry.
After my meeting with Mike I just wanted to strangle the fucking
guy, after all he was an asshole and a liar but at his going away
party, which I only attended for the free beer, he’d told me he’d
had ‘nothing to do with it’.
Olivia knew that I thought she was an
idiot, she basically told me as much. We’d have these ‘coaching
sessions’ where she’d tell me that she respected my technical
abilities; that I was an important member of the team, but that I had
to start being a team player and if I wanted a job in management I
should starting walking the walk. These coaching sessions made me
hate her more than ever; I mean how dare this young, twenty something
bimbo tell me an industry vet what to do and how to manage.
I would cringe when I’d see her and
Mike heading out for lunch or going for coffee; every day was a god
damn slap in my face.
When she came to my desk and told me
she’d like to meet with me; I knew, I just did. I pushed back my
chair and watched her sweet ass jiggle as I followed her to the
meeting room. I took a seat across from her, acutely aware of the
deliberately placed Kleenex box and bottle of water on the table. I
stared at her, arms crossed, waiting for her big red lipsticked mouth
to yap out some dumb words, but she waited. It was the first time I
noticed her imperfections. The thumbs of her nails were chewed, she
had lipstick on her teeth, and her eye liner was smudged on one side
in a big line that extended to her ear. It almost made me like her
for a split second, but that passed when Mike opened the door to join
our meeting.
She started “We’ve brought you in
here today to tell you something that may be difficult to hear”; so
the mother-fucker’s were firing me, just what I thought. After the
big speech, the cards for emotional and career assistance Mike walked
me out. I was keenly aware of my identification card and key-pass in
my pocket; that’s when the idea first came to me. They were dumb
enough not to ask me for it, and they were still in my pocket as Mike
closed the cab door behind me.
Instead of taking a cab home, I took it
around the block; back to the office. I walked into the front door
of our building and sat in the stairwell until four o’clock. The
office was on the 15th floor and I started the long walk
up the stairs, sweating. I had to quit smoking and eating like a
pig, fifteen flights of stairs shouldn’t have been that hard. The
office closed at 4:30, and most people would be gone by then. Rosie
in administration would be gone for sure, and it was her office I was
looking for anyways. I knew where she kept they key to the personnel
files; she was too fat and lazy to put it very far from where she
sat. Not turning on the lights, I fumbled around in her drawer and
found the key. I could see in her in box my file with a big red
T-E-R-M-I-N-A-T-E-D stamped across it. Nice touch I thought, they
sure didn’t waste any time.
Opening the bank of personnel drawers I
searched for Olivia Newton; 103rd Avenue – Apt# 909.
After I found what I needed and leaving my access key on the top of
my terminated file, I left. Going down the stairs was a lot easier
than going up.
I grabbed a cab to her address, it was
one of those grandiose condos, you know the kind I couldn’t
afford. After my ex left me, I’d ended up in my parents basement
and I was still there, at 45 fucking years old. The thought of it
just pissed me off even more. Walking through the marbled lobby I
entered the elevator and hit 9.
She answered the door still wearing her
blouse from the day, but with a pair of yoga pants and her hair piled
high on her head in a pony tail. She was obviously shocked to see me
and I could see the fear in her eyes. “Harold, what are you doing
here?” she asked, forcing a smile as if we were some old friends or
some shit like that. I knew she lived alone, because I’d heard her
complaining about it constantly. Just she and her cat; not the type
you’d figure for a cat woman.
Forcing myself in I locked the door
behind me. “Nice Apartment” I said sarcastically. Everything
was new and modern, right out of a Saks Avenue catalogue. Stupidly
she thanked me. I stood there for a minute in silence, drinking in
her hot body before I heard the shower was on. She must have been
getting ready for her shower and threw on her yoga pants when I
knocked on the door. I told her to go have her shower, and that I
wanted to watch her. She was trembling now, but did not move.
“MOVE” I yelled at her, with more anger than I intended. She
started walking towards the bathroom, undressed and stepped into the
shower with her back to me. I told her to keep the door open and
look at me while I watched. Under my direction, she cleaned every
inch of herself, and I made her watch me masturbate.
When she was done I told her to lay on
the bed; and she did, stark naked. I couldn’t fuck her though, I
hated her that much. I told her how much I hated her, how much she’d
ruined my life and what a bitch she was. I spit on her and then
seeing a wicker box of nylons on the dresser took one and choked her
until she stopped moving. No more stupid laughing now.
I remember seeing it on the news, when
they arrested Mike Archibald for the murder of Olivia Newton. It was
cited as a “Crime of Passion”. Apparently the son of a bitch had
been fucking her the whole time, and they liked it kinky so to speak.
Before meeting his wife for dinner that night, Mike escorted Olivia
home for some ‘play time’. They were spotted together by several
witnesses in the lobby, as well as the elevator; “All over each
other” one woman was quoted as saying.
Olivia had kept journals and letters
filled with Mike’s name, and what they wanted to do to each other.
Just my luck he wanted to start ‘tying her up with nylons’, and
it was even better that he’d mentioned to a buddy over beers that
he’d ‘have to get rid of her’ (probably meaning he’d have to
fire her).
I was still living off my separation
package, sitting in my parents basement; but I’d won! I fucking
won! I opened my sock drawer and pulled out her panties. Rubbing
the silk and lace over my face; I tossed them back in the drawer to
join all the others. This was getting boring; would have to go big
next time.
